#My old man shipping goes back far

[honesttoglob]

"My statue, / Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, / Did run pure blood;" (2.2.81-83)

"The ides of March are come." (3.1.1)

[seungfl0wer]

Jeongin As Your Boyfriend

Bangchan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

Contains Smut 🩷

-🩵

•I feel like he’s very nervous, especially at first.

•Constantly checking on you making sure anything he does is ok.

•Like kissing. He’s gonna ask you if “it’s ok” to kiss you.

•Because he’s afraid of making you uncomfortable.

•When y’all get past that phase he’s still asking sometimes however he goes for it more often than not.

•He’s not super big into skin ship.

•However that does not mean he’s not ever gonna touch you of course.

•Holding hands is his favorite.

•Or wrapping his arms around you in a back hug.

•He’s not into PDA so if you try to kiss him around the others.

•He’s gonna turn bright red.

•He’s very reserved in my opinion.

•I feel like since he likes fashion so much he’d honestly like those couple outfits.

•Not the “I love my boyfriend” shirts.

•But like same color shirts and stuff just simple cute couple fits.

•Will have you in his OOTD’s especially when y’all matching.

•Absolutely loves seeing you in his clothes too.

•Ugh it just melts him. Finds it so endearing.

•Has a playlist of songs that remind him of you.

•Loves taking you to different places with him so you can experience them with him.

•Teases you of course.

•However he’s very mindful and sometimes can overthink what he says.

•He’s just afraid of hurting your feelings.

•Cuddles.

•Like I said he’s not a big touchy person however.

•When you’re sleeping he’s pulling you so close.

•Tells you all the time how it’s hard to sleep without you.

•Sings trots songs for you.

•Likes karaoke dates a lot too.

•Will definitely send you pictures of their concepts before it’s out.

•He can’t keep things from you.

•It’s really hard for him to keep secrets even if it’s something like a present or surprise.

•He just tells you everything so it’s hard for him not to tell you these exciting things.

•Clumsy.

•You joke how you need to put him in a bubble.

•Or bubble wrap the house at least.

•He loves taking pictures of you too.

•Changes his background so much cause he takes such cute pictures of you.

•No matter how long y’all date for he’s still smiling when he sees your name pop up on his phone.

•Even old and grey he’s still all giddy with you cause he loves you.

•I feel like after he lets his wall down he falls really hard.

•His love is so very genuine.

•He’s just a soft guy under those fox eyes, whose only mission is to make you smile.

•To make you happy and to feel loved and he’ll always be there to do so.

︵‿︵‿୨Smut Below୧‿︵‿︵

•Again this man’s still a bit nervous.

•He lets you take the lead a lot.

•But when he gets comfortable you’ll see the real jeongin.

•He’s very much a switch.

•Loves when you take care of him.

•Calling him your “Sweet baby” makes him go crazy.

•Whimpers so much when he’s like this.

•”I’ve been so good for you please-“

•Morning blow jobs to wake him up.

•Lazy morning sex too.

•You’re still half asleep when he’s pushing himself between your legs.

•His head in the crook of your neck whimpering how he “needs you so much”

•When you respond he’s losing it.

•Lubing you up before pushing into your sweetness.

•On the other hand he can be very aggressive.

•A lot of the times it’s when he’s stressed.

•He’ll have you face down as up as he pounds deep into you.

•Those big beautiful hands leaving hand prints on your ass.

•Loves sneaking you into the dorms.

•Telling you how you “have to stay quiet”

•Gets off on the thought of the others hearing how good he’s making you feel.

•Also those hands I mentioned?

•The way he pushes them into your sweet hole it just-

•He curls them so perfectly hitting every sweet spot.

•He knows how much you like his pretty hands.

•Teases you about how you fall apart on them.

•Aftercare is a lot for him.

•He is always concerned he hurt you or pushed you too far.

•Constant “are you ok?”

•Runs to grab you towels, snacks and drinks.

•Just wants to make sure you’re completely ok.

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something

[meanbossart]

I realize this is a weirdly specific question, but what was DU Drow’s experience like first waking up on the Nautiloid/on the beach?

Like, was he wearing Bhaalist stuff when he woke up then? If he was, did he ditch it right away or did he just leave it on until he found gear in better shape or maybe just didn’t want to associate with that symbolism/organization anymore? Like what was the thought process for him there, assuming that were the case??? If he was wearing something else, what might it have been?

I ask because I finally started my first Dark Urge playthrough yesterday (YIPPEE) and am plagued with thoughts about my guy, wondering if maybe he had some Bhaalist gear on when he first fell out of the Nautiloid that slowly was switched out for other things as the story progressed. Then I was like “oh hey what about Drow??? What was going through his head when he woke up that morning on the beach??????” Especially bc I can’t imagine he had much time to look at what he was wearing on the Nautiloid while it was still flying around.

ANYWAYS. Apologies for the ramble, my brain is plagued with thoughts now that I’m finally doing a Durge run so I might come at you with more random ass questions in the future >:)))

First of all AYYYY have fun with your first durge run!!! I'm always open to more questions if they happen to pop up throughout the experience.

Now to your question: An Interesting one! Though my answer might be disappointing LOL

In my personal lore, DU drow woke up from the tank with nothing but some scrappy underwear on - hell, It would probably make more sense if he was fully nude, even, but that would make many of the companion introductions a little too awkward - so, tattered underwear it is.

Considering what Kressa had been doing to him, I imagine that she would have either removed or destroyed his clothes at some point during the experimentation. DU drow was stuck with her for at least a few weeks - so, even if she didn't promptly undress him, his outfit would have been far too slashed, cut, and caked with old blood to keep, and likely torn off so it would stop getting in the way.

Her husband (I think he's the one who ships you away, if memory serves me right) would have had little reason to send him off with dignity - BUT perhaps he slipped some briefs back onto the drow's body because he felt ashamed of the implications of his wife keeping a battered, nude man around.

So, DU drow slides out of his pod, caked with old blood with only some ill-fitting linens covering his groin. He picks up whatever sharp object he finds lying around for self defense and proceeds through the ship, barefoot, hair matted, having no idea who he is, what he looks like, or how he got here. He's completely overtaken by his self-preservation instincts and being confused is second to getting out of his situation alive. He goes along with Lae'zel because she seems to have at least some idea of what's going on, and he frees Shadowheart from her pod because she seems more trustworthy than Lae'zel.

He probably stripped the trousers off of one of the corpses lying around the beach after the actual crash (they would have been a little tight, but it's better than nothing) and god-willing was able to snatch some fresher underwear at the grove or something. The only indicatives he had of a past life were his scars, and I guess his unusual features. The thing is - whenever he first caught sight of his reflection, he very much liked what he saw looking back. Someone else might have been shocked by their appearance, but what DU drow felt would have been more akin to a kind of relief - I'm strong. I'm big. I'm intimidating. Good. As it should be.

And well... There's not much reason to give it thought past that. His looks feel right, he thinks he looks attractive, even his scars are somewhat comforting. Tadpole and odd company aside, it actually feels nice to be himself right now, so why ruin it with questions and concerns.

[mothgardens]

@tired-dragon22 ask and you shall receive :)

If you know me, no you don’t (I’m looking at u, T)

This is probably going to be a little messy and silly, but defo worth it.

To the people who think that Logan is a dominant, angry top… YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HIM— this goes both ways because if you think that Wade is a submissive, whiny bottom you gotta be kidding.

These two characters are so complex and I am going to spend far to much time analyzing their psychosexual behavior, lets begin:

Logan, like most us know, is passed around like a blunt: Storm, Jean, Scott, Jean and Scott at the same time, Kurt, Storm, Kurt and Storm at the same time, Wade, some people ship him with Charles and Erik as well— point being, the man has some experience.

I know he wouldn’t run for one team (top or bottom), he is playing both fields. In my heart, he is a switch. But, that means he has multiple roles. To me, he is a power bottom MOST of the time, a service top, and on special occasions he can be a regular old bottom.

You have to really delve into the details of his character to see this how I do, and tbh idk if I will be able to explain it as well as I’d like.

Thinking about his character overall, he plays the “bad boy” who is mean and uncommitted, but that is not him. That is a mask to the world to hide his vulnerability.

This man is really just a soft, sad soldier. He has spent to much if his life grasping for stability and dignity. Everything he has ever done has been for some drop of control. But, he doesn’t like it.

He hates his anger, it’s exhausting. He hates fighting for everything he wants. He hates the constant tension and stress. He needs someone to take it away. Which leads me to our first role, Service Top.

He wants to serve. He wants to be told he is doing well (I will die on the hill of this mf having a praise kink). He doesn’t want to fight for control anymore. He hates having a constant guessing game; he would prefer to be told what to do. So, this is a perfect role for him. His partner has control, but he can still serve them. He can be their loyal dog. Do as they say, how they say it. He would get of to pleasing his partner. If they tell him “good job” then his heart is their’s.

I think the line between him being a power bottom or a traditional bottom is paper thin. He likes the lack of control, but he doesn’t like the guessing game. So, he gives suggestions, orders, or, primarily, bitches until his partner does what he wants. HE IS A BRAT, YOU CANNOT FIGHT ME ON THIS.

Simply, he needs to be taken care of. He takes care of so many people, he takes control of so many situations, he never catches a break. He just needs someone to gently lay him down and take the tension away.

I am foul, so one of my favorite traits about Logan is his animalistic tendencies. I believe they shine out during sex. Along the lines of him being a brat, sometimes he will just growl instead of actually bitching. Or he will whine instead of saying a word. I think he is incredibly verbal during sex, but his partner has to get him comfortable enough to quit biting back noises.

I’m not going to get into a lot of details, but just know: Logan is a bratty, feral power bottom who becomes a little mess OR he is a loyal dog service top who just wants to please.

That was my ted talk, amen.

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO ADD ON; im so happy i found the bottom logan community. He is so important to me.

(i can also make one of these about Wade)

[ichorandpride]

some morgott headcanons i have

just a list because i love this old man a lot. a mixture of both general and ship hc's

morgott nests. he has a bed but prefers nesting and has gone to great lengths to create a nest that is comfy enough for him. it's made up of furs, hides, bed sheets, blankets, even window drapes. it's not the best thing in the world but it's his and he likes it.

if, say, your tarnished is somehow able to start a relationship with him and ends up sleeping in said nest, he will actively make it bigger. just don't try to help him; despite the good intentions, you will just get in the way. you might get a tail in the face.

he doesnt move around lots in his sleep. he's a large, heavy guy that just kind of becomes a furry brick when passed out. that being said, he sleeps lightly. growing up in such horrid conditions under constant threats has him unfortunately unable to fall into a deep rest. if he does ever get into a solid sleep, it goes on for like 13 hours - his body probably overcompensating and getting what it can while it can.

he's got a rough relationship with food. he may feel stressed if at, say, a banquet and there's tons of food around. he's used to not eating a lot and as such continues to eat as little as possible. it's not because he doesnt think he deserves it. rather, he's just gone his entire life without a stable source of food and is used to it.

that said, he forages lots. my man is a scrounger. i know this mf scrounges around for mushrooms and herbs to bring back to his nest. at any given time, you can find at least a few scraps of herbs around his space. he probably eventually starts a small garden.

if he's eating something and you try to jokingly take a piece, he will growl at you. it's one of the few times he ever vocalizes like that (compared to his brother, who constantly growls and isnt afraid to snarl). his growling is deep, more from his chest than his throat, and it will be one of those rumbles you can feel.

other than growling, he can also purr. it's embarrassing and unbecoming, but if you get him relaxed enough (a feat in and of itself), he will absolutely start purring and doze off. please get him a big enough rocking chair to be able to snooze in.

he either doesnt bathe, or he bathes far too much. no in-between. it's really hard for him to be able to keep to a set schedule and so it's kind of become a thing of extremes for him. it depends on how he feels. either he feels like it doesnt matter bc he's gonna get dirty anyways and so he just doesnt for a while, or he goes through a period where he just cant get the memory of the stench of sewers out of his nose and ends up bathing like three times a day.

normally his hair and fur is wiry and kinda... 'off' looking. that's when he's in a period of bad hygiene. when he does bathe, though, his fur puffs tf out and actually gets quite soft. maybe even lighter in colour now that all his body muck is gone.

despite his occasional bouts of hygiene issues (and his own personal fears of smelling like the sewers), morgott surprisingly smells fine most of the time. maybe a bit of musk or perhaps the scent of iron and soil from his times battling, but otherwise it's not actually overwhelming or bad.

he'll never admit it but if you ever gift him some food and reassure him that it's all his, he probably spends the next several minutes just staring at it instead of eating. there is not a scrap left after he's done with it though.

[cosmerelists]

Top 10 Cosmere Fake-Outs: Ranked by How Well they Fooled Me

By "fake-outs," I mean times when the narrative tried to convince me that something had happened or was true (for example: this character is DEAD!) when in fact it was all a lie.

By necessity, THIS POST WILL CONTAIN LOTS OF MAJOR SPOILERS!

Specifically: Major spoilers for Warbreaker, Stormlight Archives, Mistborn Eras 1 and 2, and Yumi & the Nightmare Painter. I won't put character names in the titles of the entries, but if you haven't read all of those listed works, please move on!

#10: A Words of Radiance Death

In Words of Radiance, Jasnah is attacked by assassins while on board a ship with Shallan. Shallan sees Jasnah's lifeless body being stabbed, and then the ship literally goes down in flames. Jasnah has certainly died!

Yeah...I didn't buy it for even one second, to be honest. I was twiddling my thumbs waiting for the reveal that Jasnah had actually survived, because of course she did. (This is not a complaint!)

#9: A Secret Project Death

At the end of Yumi and the Nightmare Painter, Yumi dies, and it's a real fake-out. Sanderson goes so far as to have a secret, extra epilogue that isn't in the table of contents where her death is reversed. I wasn't quite as sure while reading that Yumi would survive--at least, not as sure as I was when Jasnah "died." But I was pretty sure. 

#8: A Mistborn Era 1 Death

Specifically: Kelsier. When Kelsier dies at the end of Book 1 (!), I was shocked...and suspicious. Would Sanderson really kill off a character like Kelsier in Book 1??? Well, as it turns out...yes. But also no. Because Kelsier clings to "life" as a Cognitive Shadow and is still off doing things in future books. So I still count this one as a fake-out!

#7: Another Mistborn Era 1 Death

Another character who "dies" in Mistborn Era 1 is Marsh, Kelsier's brother. They find what they think is his completely obliterated body and are like "oh no." Of course, any time there is a completely obliterated body, we as readers will be suspicious: if it's really Marsh, why no face? But I actually wasn't too very suspicious of this one because Marsh felt like a character who could die, narratively speaking. I didn't, like, drop my book out of shock when he turned back up, but I was more surprised than I had been with the others.

#6: Just An Innocent Old Man in Way of Kings

This is referring to Taravangian, who in Way of Kings is presented as a dottering old man who's well-meaning but not too bright. I'm not going to lie, I bought this one hook, line, and sinker. The villain reveal for Taravangian did take me almost completely by surprise! The impact was only lessened insofar as I wasn't that interested in Taravangian pre-reveal, so I didn't feel, like, betrayed or anything.

#5: Nice Guys in Warbreaker

I 100% believed that Denth and Tonk Fah worked for Lemex, were relatively sad about his totally natural death, and were sincerely working for Vivenna afterwards. This is in spite of the fact that the narrative was not at all shy about dropping hints that this was not true. There's the fact that we're told people with tons of breaths are strong & healthy...yet I was like, "Yeah, makes sense that Lemex died of natural causes." We see Vasher position himself against Vivenna and company, and yet I was like, "Vasher probably has his reasons but it's not like Vivenna and company are doing bad things." This one was a shock especially because I liked Denth & Tonk Fah! 

#4: Dalinar and Amaram are BFFs forever

This one runs the risk of being more of a plot twist than a fake-out...but hear me out. We're led to believe that Dalinar has finished investigating Amaram and has decided not to believe Kaladin; he and Amaram are BFFs forever and ever. Then there's a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment when Dalinar is "out sick" for a week, but I for one thought nothing of that. Then it turns out that Dalinar was in fact laying a trap for Amaram, which Amaram waltzed right into, and Dalinar finally learned the truth. So I think it counts as a fake-out: I was certainly very surprised when Dalinar called Kaladin up "for an apology" and it turned out to be Amaram who needed to apologize. 

#3: Jasnah's Soulcaster

Shallan's whole plot line in Way of Kings is centered around her trying to steal Jasnah's very real and functional Soulcaster by swapping it for Shallan's broken one. Personally, it did not occur to me for even a second that Jasnah's Soulcaster also didn't work and was also a fake, so Shallan simply swapped one fake for another. In part, this was because I did not understand how any of the magic worked on Roshar at this point. But still. It definitely fooled me good.

#2: A Mistborn Era 2 Death

I will admit, it never even entered into the realm of possibility for me that Wax's old wife, Lessie, wasn't dead. We watched her die in the flashback. She was buried. She felt like just one of those fridged women and I had not even a shred of doubt that her death actually happened. I was so sure that when Bleeder literally reverted into Lessie's form and voice, I just assumed she had eaten Lessie's bones. This one really, REALLY shocked me.

#1: Mistborn Era 1: Follow the Ancient Text

But even so, I think the fake-out that most shocked me was the one at the end of Well of Ascension. Vin knew, per the very accurate ancient writings left behind by Kwaan, that she had to resist the power offered by the Well and give it up--even if that meant letting someone she loved die. This felt like such a classic climax and source of tension, that I was just waiting with baited breath hoping that Vin would give up the power. And she did. And it was a mistake. Because it turns out that if you copy down Kwaan's words--which were inscribed in metal so that they could not be altered--on to paper, then Ruin's gonna alter them and you can't trust the ancient prophecy after all. In following the "prophecy" at great personal cost, Vin was just doing what Ruin wanted anyway.

I'm still not over this one. 

[jiubilant]

ao3 (2800 words)

In Betony, she had flown goshawks with eyes like coins of fire. In the frozen north, she flies stranger birds. When the enormous sea-eagle beats its beak thrice against her windowpane, insistent as a door-to-door peddler, she stands calmly from her desk to let it in.

“Well?” she asks, unsmiling.

The barbarian of air wings in on a gust of wind and snow that whips through her papers, scattering some Synod tract and an adept’s treatise on runestones. Its talons clack on the back of her chair. Beneath the fierce, hoary brows of old men and birds of prey, its mismatched eyes—one brown, the other bluish-green—flash with a question of their own.

She gestures, eyebrows raised, to the cloak hung by the door. Then she turns to close the window. When the click of claws on tile becomes the slap of bare feet, she repeats herself. “Well?”

“He’s as stubborn as ever,” a querulous voice grumbles at her back. Cloth rustles. Her spare chair scrapes across the floor, then creaks. “Heard me out and sent me off. It can’t be done, Mirabelle.”

“If it couldn’t be done, Tolfdir, I wouldn’t ask it of you.” Mirabelle Ervine, Master Wizard of the College of Winterhold, thumbs a smudge from the stained glass. It squeaks. “I would do it myself.”

She would have harsh words, under any other circumstances, for a mage foolish enough to alter his own shape—but her Master of Alteration has walked the world as wolf and otter, elk and wild boar, since she was a child struggling to cast colored lights. When she turns from the window, she almost smiles to see him hunched hawkish in the cloak: a frail old man who, in three days, has flown a journey that would take her several sennights.

“You ought to have gone yourself,” he says anyway, patting his windswept beard back into place. He seldom looks weary after his adventures. The light in his eyes—one brown, the other bluish-green—is the light of one who has outraced clouds. “He never listened to old men. But to old friends, my dear, he may yet unbar his door.”

Mirabelle waves a hand. The sheafs of strewn paper stack themselves on her desk, probably out of order. “I’m needed here. I can’t be long away.”

“Phinis could.” Tolfdir helps himself to her tea. Miraculous, she thinks, that all his flapping hadn’t sent the cup skidding to Atmora. “I remember the three of you knocking about as prentices. Couldn’t separate you.”

Mirabelle tries to picture poor Phinis, who pales when asked to venture into town, on the next karve to the Hjaal. When she surfaces from the fancy, less plausible by far than the Synod’s treasure-maps, the old man’s welkin eyes are watching her.

“Why now, Master Wizard?” he asks, not ungently.

His tea, now, Mirabelle thinks. She goes to the shelf for another cup. “Pardon?”

“Falion left us years ago.” The eagle looks out at her from Tolfdir’s face. “You let him go. Why ask him back now?”

Mirabelle’s fingers pause in midair. Most of her clayware is chipped. Ancano, when she’d interviewed him last, had lifted the cup she’d set out for him with near-imperceptible amusement—as if, she’d thought then, he were indulging thoughts of dropping it.

“It seems to me,” she says, her voice hard for all its softness, “that we have invited enemies into our house, and shut friends outside.”

“Ah.” Tolfdir’s cup clinks on her desk. “I saw a knarr sailing this way, you know, while I was up.” He pauses, then clears his throat. “East Empire Company, I thought.”

* * *

When she takes the stairs of the Archmage’s tower two by two, wound tight with the news, Ancano is already in yarak. Perhaps he has his own eyes in the air.

“No good will come of a Haafing ship testing these waters,” he’s saying when she slips into the Archmage’s study. She’s come to know Ancano better than she’d like; whenever he’s pressing a point, as he’s doing now, his voice takes on the high, humming urgency of a kite’s whistle. “We must signal at once for it to turn about.”

“Turn about?” Savos Aren’s hand is already tangled in his beard. The bewildered crease in his brow unbends when he sees Mirabelle, but does not disappear. “The College of Winterhold is not a port authority, Emissary. Nor is it a lighthouse.”

“Indeed,” says Mirabelle crisply, taking a stand beside his chair, “I should think that much good will come of a merchant ship, under the circumstances—this is the first,” she points out, “since the leads opened in spring.” They’d lasted the winter, as usual, on lutefisk. Even she is beginning to tire. “Our stores are running low.”

Savos, heartened, tries weakly for a joke. “Much goods?”

Ancano’s golden eyes glint up at Mirabelle. He and the Archmage are at table, lit blue by the drifting magelights: Ancano leaning forward, Savos huddled in his robe of office like an old man in his shawl. He never drinks anything stronger than the watered-milk tea favored so far north, where vegetal life is scant. His cup sits untouched. Ancano has supplied, from some shelf of his own stores, a jug of wine.

“Mistress Ervine,” he says with a courteous smile. The magelights chase a shadow across his narrow face. “You must sit.”

She must do nothing. She holds her face immobile.

“I was sharing my concerns with the Archmage.” If Ancano sees the pack-ice in her eyes, he gives no sign of it. He waves a black-gloved hand. His servant, an ancient elf with a blotch like a winestain on his cheek, hastens forward to fill a third cup. “I fear that this vessel, if it persists in its course, will be seized by the Jarl as a prize for the Stormcloak fleet.”

Mirabelle ignores both the wine and the servant, who always smiles in terror when acknowledged. “Korir lacks the men.”

“Then the ship will blunder into Ulfric’s blockade.” Ancano’s smiling again, close-lipped and motionless as an Aldmeri bust. “That it hasn’t already is miraculous.”

“The College is not party to the recent—rising tensions, shall we say, between Haafingar and Eastmarch,” says Savos, who has as many euphemisms for civil war as a skald has kennings. “I fail to see how the requisition of a knarr—by either fleet, Emissary—is a matter in which we have any right to intervene.”

Ancano’s face falls into a prim, prudent frown. “You must see, Archmage, how a disturbance in Winterhold’s waters would endanger the College’s neutral position—”

* * *

“—and on it went, like that,” Mirabelle finishes, stoic. “The Archmage remains undecided.”

“Of course he does,” says Faralda, reaching for the pitcher. “More blaand?”

She’d come to Faralda’s gatehouse to compare admission records—and, she admits, to cool a headache in the courtyard’s frigid wind. She’s stayed for supper. Her Master of Destruction is the terror and delight of the village’s braver children, who rattle her gate and barter foodstuffs for feats of witchery: fountains of sparks, sky-whales shaped of smoke, magefires juggled from hand to hand. One small petitioner had traded a fat square of blubber, now cubed and salted in Faralda’s only bowl, for a field of ice on which she and her siblings could play stickball.

Faralda refills their cups with the Vetrings’ creamy whey-wine, then takes another morsel from the bowl—with finger and thumb, as the villagers do. Her elbows brace the table like an old salt’s. “Company knarr, Tolfdir said?”

“Yes.” Faralda had been a ship’s mage, once. Mirabelle studies her for a moment—her hair that musses in all weather, the rigging-lines of laughter in her face—then rubs her forehead, resolving to drink no more blaand. “This ship. Why would it—”

Faralda, looking pained, says, “She.”

“—why would she sail into Stormcloak waters?”

A pause.

“You seek counsel,” says Faralda, a slow smile sharpening her face, “from your future Master Wizard—”

“Faralda.”

“East Empire Company,” says Faralda, as if that explains everything. She waves a hand that shines with grease in the firelight. “The Imperial Fleet can fit in a puddle. Mede could float out his toy ships to be rammed to flinders by Ulfric’s drekar—or,” she says, longships burning in her eyes, “he could let Cousin Vici and her mercenaries defend their searoads.”

Mirabelle frowns. “With one knarr?”

“A maiden to lure out the dragons, perhaps.”

Always evocative, Faralda’s fancies. Mirabelle pictures a line of dragon-headed longships gliding to the knarr, their oars churning, their painted snarls crusted with ice—and their hulls splintering, brittle as kindling, beneath the bolts and prows of a host of Company ships.

“Let us not speak of dragons,” she says, reaching wearily into the bowl. Since the recent news from Helgen, she’s caught herself eyeing the sky every time she crosses the quadrangle. “Ancano has the right of it, then, that this ship is likely to stir trouble.”

Faralda sniffs. “You ought to do the very opposite of whatever he suggests.”

“His counsel is often sound. That’s the trouble. If it weren’t, Savos—the Archmage,” Mirabelle corrects herself, “would not entertain him.” She thinks of dragons settling on the ramparts, crushing the crenels between their toes. “What can he want with us?”

“Remember how he tried to cram that monstrous desk up the stairwell? The one he brought out of Valenwood?”

“Solid graht-oak.” Enthir, pacing her office, had almost wept with rage. She can’t laugh, now, recalling how the thing had rained drawers on several Aldmeri attachés.

“He wants what that knarr wants.” Faralda’s smile is thin and taut. “Something costly to bring home.”

* * *

Evening creeps early, on misty feet, into the lumber-town of Morthal. The watchmen have been jumpy, of late, as well they should; their torchlights bob past the wizard’s window in twos, like great eyes gleaming in the dark, as they creak up and down the bridge. The fog muffles their steps. The wizard, going about his evening chores, smiles and listens.

“Is he in there?” asks one of the watchmen.

“Aye,” says another, and spits.

If he were out, they’d spit at that, too. The wizard raises his eyebrows, nonplussed, and scrubs a crust of pottage from a pewter plate—

Falion.

The plate clatters to the floor. When the wizard whirls with a spell on his lips and a washrag in his hand—anticipating fiends, fire, fool neighbors with pitchforks—he finds his hearthroom empty.

He stares about him at what his sister, with twinkling eyes, calls his instruments of sorcery: the great cookpot, the garlic-strings, the besom and staff by the door. Then he sighs and flicks the rag aside. “You would bespeak me while I’m scouring dishes.”

The voice, cool and familiar, rises in his mind like a wry notion of his own. I trust I did not catch you unawares.

“I will tell you what I told Tolfdir, and no more.” Things stranger than Mirabelle Ervine have spoken into Falion’s mind. He stoops for the plate. “My talents are much needed here. Much maligned, as well, but no matter—I have found in the marshes of Morthal my masters, my mystic tomes, my métier.” His own stern, seamed face frowns back at him from the pewter. “If Aren himself groveled at my feet, I would not return.”

Apprentices had been awed, once, by his dire proclamations: heed my words, and meddle not with each other's summoning-circles, and so. Never Mirabelle. Perhaps I wished only to speak to you.

“Speak to me, then, of the sorcery of Winterhold.” The face reflected in the plate would make a bitter meal. He sets it aside. “Of the marvels its mages have wrought. Of Mirabelle Ervine”—his voice gentles, then—“and her miracles.”

He can almost see her desk, cluttered with distractions of all description, and her terse smile. She strikes back. How is Agni?

“My young ward,” says Falion, after a pause, “shows some promise.”

To clasp one's mind with the mind of another mage—master, pupil, friend—is to do more than converse. He’s known Mirabelle since she was a prentice; the keen and steady stare that had followed him in his youth passes through him now, insubstantial, searching his mind for the child. The byre in which he’d found her—the reek of damp, the rotting straw. The murrain she’d spelled from Eivor’s cattle. Her first magelight, bright and startled as her smile. His terror that he’ll teach her ill, that she’ll end like his last pupil—

That, says Mirabelle softly, was not your fault.

“I know.” Falion flicks a taut hand. The fire in his hearth bursts up; the dishes, clattering like a draugr’s mail, stack themselves on the shelf. “And you know. And the rest of you, chasing shadows and squabbling over chairs—Mirabelle,” he murmurs with ferocity, sweeping his arm in an arc that rattles every shutter, “how can you stay?”

A pause.

These are tempestuous times. Mirabelle’s voice, to his surprise, is tinged with weary humor. If a dragon lands in the forecourt, who will remind it that we wizards are beyond worldly affairs?

Falion blinks. Then, despite everything, he smiles.

“If you need me,” he says to the empty room, “truly need me, my old friend—I will come.” He shakes his head. “But not before.”

“Falion,” calls a small voice from the doorway, “are you talking to dwarves?”

He turns. The child, picking sprigs of heather from her hair, greets him with a hesitant smile; she’s been in the marshes again, loosing coneys from his snares. The presence in his mind, with mingled frustration and warmth, flickers out.

“Agni.” He’ll scold her later. He raises an eyebrow and plucks a twig from behind her ear. “I was speaking with—a former colleague.”

“A wizard?” Her grin has a gap in it; the loose tooth must have come out. “A College wizard?”

“Were the snares empty again?”

“A College wizard, Falion?”

She’d been baking bread with Jonna when Tolfdir arrived. Small mercies. “Perhaps not for much longer.”

His apprentice still believes, somehow, in wonders: need-fires and marshfires, fish that grant wishes, wizards in the north that make the skylights dance. She frowns as if betrayed. “Why?”

“If you saw the College, child,” says Falion, kneeling to help her with her boots, “you would know.”

* * *

On the deck of the Valravn, the knarr creaking through the ice off the Vetring coast, a man in shabby furs smiles in surprise. His eyes have frozen shut.

“Sten, lad,” he calls to the steersman who’s been kind to him, kinder than he deserves, on the long, careful journey through the leads: a young man, quick to laugh, whose brothers have all gone south to war. They could be in his daughter’s centuria, he thinks, joking with her over a supper of mashed grain. They could be heads on spears. The wind saws his face like a carving-knife. “My pipe’s out.”

“Here you are, then, Master Clerk,” says a good-natured voice by his ear, followed by the mineral clack of struck flint. A hand swathed in fishskin turns his face for inspection. “Kyne caught you a nip, has she?”

“Don’t fuss.” His face is nearly too stiff to force a smile. “It’s only the lashes.”

“Well”—the hand tugs gently at his sleeve—“come away from the side. You’ll have your last cold bath, sir, if we meet a floe and pitch. And I want to watch you sell snow to those Vetrings.”

Lumber, in fact, and gruit, meal, mead. None are why the clerk is here; someone else will get rid of them, in due course. He doesn’t move. “In a moment. I want to see the school.”

Sten brushes the snow from his shoulders—fuss—and bustles off to haul some line or other. The wind that freezes men solid in their sleep closes around the clerk, whirling away the creak of rigging, the grumble of ice, the boatswain’s busy shouts. He’s alone with it again. When he breathes in deep, it burns on the way down like a clean, destroying flame; when he holds his pipe-bowl to his eye and waits for the lashes to thaw, the warmth is no different than the chill.

The dead in their doorways of fire, he thinks, must feel this way: blind, bright, with all that they love behind them. He leans forward a little. Let this sermon be consolation to those—

Something trickles down his face. His eye unsticks.

“Ai, cardehni,” he says, appalled. A great grin cracks the ice of his face. He steps back, leaning on his cane, and cranes his head to better see. “Sten, lad—what happens if a wizard sneezes?”

The boy’s laugh bursts over the ice. High above them, rearing out of a screaming cloud of kittiwakes, towers the wizards’ school: a fortress leaning, on its chunk of frozen rock, as though a sudden noise might knock it over.

[short-honey-badger]

Doll 15

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary. Shanks and Mihawk talk, and you start your training with the warlord.

*note* Just want you guys to know that I appreciate all your love for this series. It's gotten bigger than I thought it would, but I hope you're enjoying it so far! Anyway. I'm going to be taking some creative liberties with haki in the next couple of chapters. Also, I think I'm going to sprinkle in some Mihawk x Reader every now and then. I just love the thought of the reader having two men who would move the stars for her, haha. It'll definitely be a different dynamic than my peppermint tea series, but will most likely stay Shanks x Reader centric. Sorry for the mini rant! Enjoy! ❤️❤️

Doll Masterlist

Later that evening, after you have fallen asleep, Shanks and Mihawk sit together out on deck, sipping sake and wine, respectively. They are silent, simply enjoying one anothers company. It’s been a long time since they’ve been able to do this, and Mihawk regrets a little bit for staying away for so long. The sky is clear tonight, and when he tilts his head up, he has a clear view of the stary night, the moon big and full above them.

He looks over when Shanks sighs, dark eyes closed, and his haki a muted yellow that clings to his back. The redhead tips back the bottle of sake and then sets it away, the bottle thunking on the deck of the ship. He turns his head, meeting the other man’s eyes, voice soft, “What are you really doing here, Mihawk?”

The warlord doesn’t answer at first. His only reason for tagging along was sleeping below deck, safe and sound. He sips his wine, the flavor fruity and dry on his tongue, before he shrugs, voice unconcerned, “I’ve already told you why, Red. It’d be a shame to let her talents go to waste.”

He sips from his glass again, swirling the liquid before he cuts his eyes away from Shanks and back to the sky above. A mischievous smirk paints his lips, “And I was bored.”

Shanks snorts beside him, shaking his head at the warlord. It feels good to have his old friend back by his side, and he wonders how long Mihawk will stay with them. He’s silent for a while, and then his mind casts back to the island and the way Hawkeye had looked while holding you, that protective look in his eye, the way his hand had kept your face turned away from the commotion around them. He licks his lips and frowns but finds that, while a little jealous, he isn’t mad over any of it.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?”

Mihawk cuts his eyes back to Shanks, brow furrowing for a split second before it smooths back out into a look of disinterest, “I might.”

Shanks glares at his friend, “Don’t be that way. We’ve always been truthful with one another. You can’t start lying to me now, Mihawk.”

The warlord scoffs and rolls his eyes, tone exasperated, “Yes. I know what you're talking about, Shanks. There is a draw that I feel for her. It pulls me in and makes me want to do things I've had no interest in ever doing before.”

Shanks nods along, eyes bright, “I'd burn the world for her if she ever asked. I don't understand what it is, but I can't let go. It's all consuming, Hawkeye.”

He goes quiet for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, but truthful, “And I don't want to, but sometimes it… scares me how much I would do for her.”

Both men fall silent. There is a lot to unpack in Shanks’ confession, but neither men truly understand what is going on or why they are drawn to you in such a way. Mihawk thinks it might be your haki, that pale pink is so addicting, so precious that the warlord yearns for it. To feel it wrap around him and hold him closer. He is sure that Shanks feels the same way. Dracule thinks that is why he had made the trip to Mooreboro in the first place. He may have said it was for the wine, but he had felt a pull long before he had arrived on the island. He purses his lips. It makes the warlord uncomfortable to know that someone, even someone as humble and kind as you, had that kind of sway over him. It was unnatural.

“I will look into it when it's time for me to leave,” Mihawk murmurs and watches Shanks nod out of the corner of his eye. Gloom Island was home to countless history books, so there was promising hope of finding something within them.

“Thank you, by the way, for agreeing to help her,” Shanks says after taking a pull from the bottle of sake. He rolls his head to the side, giving Mihawk a grateful look, “And for what you did for her earlier. She's got a lot of demons, Mihawk.”

The dark-haired man hums. He could have guessed that by seeing her bounty poster. Dracule hadn't liked seeing that faraway look in her eyes.

“It's good that you found her when you did,” he says and finishes off his wine, staring at the glass in thought, “It’s only going to get worse.”

Shanks frowns, a heavy sigh leaving him as he slumps forward, a bottle of sake resting between his legs. He knows the other man is right, and it saddens him to know that your life would forever be one of either running or fighting to defend yourself, but that is what he would be there for. He chances a look at Mihawk, lips twisting and his chest twanging with jealousy for a split second, and what the warlord would be here for as well.

The two sit in companionable silence for a while until Shanks hears the sound of a door opening and the soft pitter patter of socked feet. He turns to find you standing behind them, wrapped up in the blanket from the bed and a pout on your face. He smiles at you, eyes soft and opens his arm, “Come ‘ere, baby. Mihawk and I were just sharing a drink.”

You grumble and plop beside him, leaning into his shoulder and tugging the blanket closer to you to keep the chill of the sea at bay. Cool fingers gently scratch your scalp, and you feel sleep creeping back within seconds. Shanks looks at his friend and shoves that green envy down once more, and most likely for the final time. You seem to like the other man, find comfort in the way Mihawk touches you, and how that royal purple, now the color of lilac wraps around your own pale pink, soothing you back to sleep.

No one had expected this of all things to happen, but Shanks had never thought to ever find a woman he loved more than the sea itself. He met Dracule's ringed eyes over your hair and dipped his head in a nod. When Mihawk nodded back, Shanks knew that a partnership of some kind had been forged in these quiet moments on the ship. He didn't know what would happen next, but he did know that you would be safe and that you were theirs. And that's all that mattered.

-

You wake the next morning, head feeling stuffy and nose pressed against a warm chest. You crack open your eyes, brow furrowed when you see the unfamiliar pallor of flesh under you. Shanks definitely wasn't this shade of olive and was a bit darker than this. Still confused, you raise your head, cheeks exploding in a blush when you see Mihawk staring down at you with an amused look.

“Beckman called Shanks away, so I decided to take his spot,” the warlord explained as you pushed away from him. He can tell that you are embarrassed, maybe even guilty when he sees the look in your eyes, so he is quick to assure you, “Red and I came to an agreement last night, darling. You don't have to worry.”

Still, you stand and create some distance between the two of you, stretching your arms up and listening to your back pop. The front deck wasn't the best place to sleep. You can't help but wonder what kind of agreement Mihawk is talking about. You don't remember anything other than leaving your room in, following the two auras that you could feel outside.

The need to immerse yourself in them had been almost overwhelming, and your sleepy mind hadn’t put up enough effort to stop yourself from seeking them out. This hadn't been the first time it'd happened, but usually, Shanks was readily available, making it easy for you to cull the urge and snuggle up to the redhead. You'd felt that same pull for Mihawk the other morning while he helped you and Shanks stumble back to the Inn.

You understood the pull to Shanks. You loved him, and he had been the one to give you a chance, but it made you nervous to feel the same way toward the warlord. You'd just met the other man, but already his presence gave you a sense of comfort, that same belonging that you felt with the redhead. You honestly didn't know what to make of it.

“What kind of agreement?” You ask once you've pulled your thoughts together. Mihawk stands, following your lead and rolling his neck to work out the kinks in his shoulders. You wait patiently, expecting some kind of answer, but it isn't the one you want right now.

“We'll talk about that later. For now, we should get breakfast, and then we'll start on the foundations of your training.”

Mihawk strides past you, and you huff in annoyance before you follow after him. He isn't wrong. You are very hungry.

After breakfast, you disappear for a while to go and clean up, coming back up feeling nice and refreshed, and hopefully ready for whatever Mihawk plans to throw at you. You’re dressed in loose, baggy leggings and a matching flowy top, perfect for the growing climate, and meet the warlord near the bow of the ship where he is speaking with Shanks. Hawkeye is dressed down, wearing his long coat replaced by a shirt that shows off most of his chest, and you have half a mind to ask if he’d stolen it from Shanks.

The redhead grins when he spots you, and you tuck close to his side, chest swelling with delight when he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Morning, babydoll,” He greets, voice amused, “How’s your back?”

You shake your head at his picking, “Hot water helped, but I won’t be doing that again anytime soon.”

Shanks laughs at your petulant tone and shares a look with Mihawk, who rolls his eyes at them, “Anyway, I’m going to leave you in his hands, sweetheart. Benn needs me today to figure out where we want to go next. I’m thinking somewhere tropical?”

Mihawk shoos the emperor away, “Go on, then. You’re far too much of a distraction, Red.”

Shanks gives you a kiss goodbye and a wish of good luck, and you slap him on the arm for his teasing, making the redhead laugh as he saunters below deck.

Once your captain is gone, you turn your attention to Mihawk, who you find is staring at you, head cocked to the side, eyes casting from your socked feet to the top of your head. Your haki fluctuates around you like the waves crashing against the ship, curling around your hands and down around your thighs. It’s so pale that it looks white at some points, and Mihawk thinks that it’s one of the most interesting sights he’s seen in a long time.

“Tell me what you’ve learned,” He asks finally, and you nod, begging to list off everything that Shanks and the crew have been teaching you about your abilities. Mihawk nods along, making mental notes, as one hand rubs his chin back and forth in contemplation. Once you finish, he gestures for you to sit on the deck, and he follows suit, sitting in front of you.

“Red has surprisingly done a good job in making sure that you know the basics, so you have a good foundation for us to start on," He begins and watches your haki fade into a depper pink, obviously proud of yourself. Mihawk gestures at all of you with a wave of his hand, “That’s what we’ll start on, I think. Your haki expresses your emotions as if you’re screaming them to the world. You need to separate the feeling from the usage of your ability.”

You bite your lip and nod, listening with rapt attention as Mihawk begins to explain the best ways to go about your training. Unsurprisingly, you would be doing a lot more meditation, and the warlord gave you some tips on what might work better for you to keep you focused. When he suggested breathing exercises, you latched onto the idea with fervor.

“I have panic attacks, usually after a bad night, or when I get too overwhelmed. You witnessed a small one back on the island,” you say and look at him with grateful, earnest eyes, “Thank you for helping me get past it.”

Mihawk waves your thanks away. “It was the least I could do for you, darling. The breathing technique I will show you will help you recover from them faster.”

You smile in thanks, and a feeling of relief settles over you. It feels nice to know that you would know how to deal with your attacks better soon. It made you feel settled in your own skin, and you would be forever grateful to the warlord for it. Mihawk is watching you when you pull from your thoughts, head tilted to the side and back straight with perfect posture.

“Are you ready, darling?” he asks, and you nod, mimicking his form, and Mihawk nods back, “Then let’s begin.”

[romanarose]

Joel Takes a Strap

Written for Married Joel sits on you 2024 by the amazing @beefrobeefcal !!!

Joel Miller x trans!reader

Join my taglist : Masterlist

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Summary: Joel takes a strap.... send tweet.

Warnings: sex toys, praise, body worship

Immersivity: Reader is trans and able bodied. Reader has had top surgury.

A/N: promt via Beef, must include this line "Marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed over all a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline."

A/N 2: My taglist is back!!! follow the link to join <3

Divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

It was a life few people really understood. Jackson was pretty open minded, considering there were bigger things to worry about than gay shit. Still, in 2003 someone being trans was pretty much the punchline to a joke if you knew what it was at all. So, when a transman came to Jackson, it wasn't exactly the warmest welcome.

Joel would like to think he'd have always been kind and welcoming. Maybe not the friendliest guy, but still. Joel didn't care what anyone chose to do to themselves, but he thought of Ellie. He thought of how she'd been treated at the tipsy bison that night, and Dina, Joels now-daughter in-law-... he wasn't able to be a safe person for her to come out to during that time but he wanted to be safety for someone else.

He had no idea you'd become his safe place as well.

Joel wished he could have been there for Ellie to come out the way she was ready to, but then things turned around. He'd repaired their relationship in a lot of ways, and now... now she was the one he came out to when he started seeing you. The ceremony had been small, little JJ as the ringbarrer.

Marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and relation ship with Ellie improved and he seemed over all a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline.

This, however was not a drawback to you. When the world fell apart, if someone had an ounce of fat on their body, they were called obese, torn apart on the covers of grocery store magazines... but you saw Joel's weight gain as something beautiful. It meant he was safe. He was relaxed. He wasn't on the run. He was yours.

And you got a surprise for him.

You had made sue to clean it, and clean it good... but you had found a strap on while out, and were ready to use it on Joel. Joel was more inclined to top, but that didn't mean you didn't take control sometimes. He regularly takes several fingers up that cute-but-flat ass of his, and today you'd prepped him well, making sure to add lots of vasiline to the strap to ease him.

Now, Joel Miller had his legs spread across your lap as you sat on the edge of the couch, covering above your strap.

"You don't gotta do nothing you don't wanna." You reassure him.

Joel shakes his head, murmuring as he looks down. "It ain't that... I just don't wanna crush yuh, s'all."

You can't help smile at that. "You won't Joel. I love feeling you on me, l love the weight. You're fuck'n perfect."

And he smiles at that. Soft, but he smiles.

So you tease him. "Better take it now, I know Maria wants a turn for Tommy."

Joel visibly cringed at that, but laughed and the tension was gone from the room. Joel was happy, you were happy, and he had the support of his family. What everyone else thought didn't matter.

When Joel sinks down on you, feeling the weight of him push you into the couch cushions, you can't help but smile and feel his hands grip your shoulders.

"Good boy..." You praise the old man whose boyhood was far behind him. "Take my cock... just like that" If Joel was a boy, the strap is your cock. Who cares. In moments like these you can forget all the horrors of the outside world, forget reality.

"So fucking hot..." Breathy, Joel praises you back as he takes the whole strap up inside him. His hand goes to your chest, palm paying no mind to the surgery scares. "My handsome husband."

"Mmmmm... My handsome husband..."

Joel begins to move up and down, bouncing on you, his thick thighs working hard as he fucks himself. His cock slaps against your stomach. "Wanna make you cum too... how does... does that w-work?" You can see him bit his lip, pleasure filling his body.

You take his hard, leaking member in your hand, stroking him after you spit.

"Don't worry about that. We'll figure things out as he go, right now i just want you to focus on feeling good, Joel. Can you do that for me? Be my good boy and cum?"

Joel nods, a little curl falling on his forehead that is begining to sweat.

"yeah, I can do that... I can feel good... your cock feels good... I can feel good."

You love when he gets like this, lets go and lets his subby inner nature come out.

"I bet you can, Joel. I know it."

Thank you all so so much for reading!!!!

Want more trans content?

I wrote About a Girl which is Joel and tranfem reader and You'd Love me if I was a Worm, Would You Love me if I was A Man? which is reader transmasc reader coming out to santi and Big Boys Dont Cry which is trans reader AND trans santi

I hope to write a santi and trans reader series soon

How to keep up with my work?

Follow @romana-updates

ask to join my taglist

join my tumblr community

follow me on ao3 @romana_rose

Love you! hope to see more from Beefro's event!!!

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

By fire and heart.

Pt.3

Daemma Targaryen. Second daughter of King Viserys and queen Aemma, you're the living portrait of your mother with the character of a true dragon, as a second daughter you don't have right to the throne but certainly, you will protect your sister's succession by heart. (You are one year younger than Rhaenyra.)

Warning: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to! Grammatical and spelling errors, maybe this won't be good enough but In my head the story was a good one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Pt.4 here

It's curious how a war can make you change, years have passed and you're not a little young lady in those ridiculous dresses, you're not a girl running through the castle halls anymore, you remember the day you arrived at the step stones and the smell of dirt, ashes, blood and sea salt, was something that you would remember perfectly.

Daemon was furious, he almost dragged you back to your dragon to send you back home.

- WAR IS NOT A GAME, DAEMMA! THIS IS NOT A PLAYGROUND AND IT'S NOT A PLACE FOR A LADY.

- I'M NOT HERE BECAUSE OF THAT, I'M HERE TO HELP. YOU TOLD ME TO GET STRONGER TO SUPPORT MY FAMILY, YOU ARE MY FAMILY AND I'M HERE TO SUPPORT YOU.

His anger lasted for days, but eventually he understood why you were there, it wasn't only to help, it was because you wanted to be near him, after all, he was more like a father for you than your own dad, you also as a second child understood pretty early that you would have to build your own path.

He was a proud uncle, you were fierce and strong all those hours training and practicing helped you, you're not a scared deer, you're a dragon, pure fire runs inside you, a true Targaryen warrior.

«Careful! The dragons!!!»

All the mercenaries were screaming and running to escape from the flames of Caraxes and Whitefyre.

- WHERE ARE YOU DRAHAR, COME HERE AND CONFRONT ME!

- Don't be a coward, leave the Shadows you bastard!

Fire, death and destruction surrounded you and your uncle, meanwhile your father was living his best life with his new child.

You and Rhaenyra communicate frequently, you made her a promise and even if you are so far from home you still keep that promise, you would fly home if she called you.

Your little half baby brother, Aegon, catches all your father's attention. Your sister feels lonely, but tries to keep strong, a Targaryen never shows the sorrow that grows inside.

The news of the war arrives at your father's door frequently too, but he doesn't care, he refuses to talk about the crab feeder and refuses to send ships or any kind of help, the influence of the Hightower doesn't help much either.

«they started this war by themselves, they'll have to win it by themselves»

Rhaenyra is not in her best time, she constantly argues with your father, every letter is pretty much the same.

«Our father reminded me again about my responsibilities, as if I were an idiot, lucky you that escaped from here... My apologies Daemma, I know the circumstances for you are not any better than mine, keep yourself safe, sister, i still need you at my side.»

The rest of the letter was about what she heard about the war, how she put those old fat ladies in their place, her encounter with that wild boar, about what she saw in the forest... the white stag, and the worse comes when your sister mentions you about how you and her are now in age to marital arrangements, you couldn't contain your laugh when you read that part about the Lannister man and his proposal.

-We still can win this war by ourselves! We don't need the king's help.

- Oh trust me, Princess, we need help, soon enough we will not be capable of fighting, we're less and less.

- We do not need the king, Lord Vaemond. We'll find another way.

- If you don't ask for it, I will.

- if you do it, I personally will cut your throat.

- Enough, Daemma.

A hand squeezes your shoulder and makes you step back. Your uncle appears just in time before you and Vaemond started to yell at each other as you usually do, you're brave and smart but still you don't understand many things about war, you're learning, your refusal to ask your father's help is a clear proof of it, Daemon refuses to receive help because he already knows how to win, but, for unknown reason he still doesn't decide to give the final hit.

Meanwhile Vaemond Velaryon ran like a scared little mouse and asked for help, your father after years ignoring the pleas, finally accepted and sent a letter and a float.

Early in the morning, dragons fly over the stones and the beach, smoke and ashes, you, Laenor, Corlys, Vaemond and some other men are counting and planning what to do, there's no food or resources enough, you have to find a solution.

- We're weak and that triarchy knows it! Continue sending the dragons.

Corlys looks exhausted and anxious and exasperated, observing the map over and over, he feels hopeless.

- It is useless.

You're tired of flying around without reason, it is useless, Laenor knows it too.

- Indeed, father, the archer defend the skies while the rest protect their position, when the dragons attack they hide in those caves.

- We have to make them leave the caves...

- But they don't have reasons to leave the caves.

Vaemond complains and once again Laenor talks, he has a good plan, better than continuing flying and not obtaining nothing.

- Then let's find a reason. Someone needs to risk.

- Who? Who will be crazy enough to risk is own life?

«A dragon returns!»

- Daemon.

- Daemon is the reason why we're in this position.

- At least he's doing something, he's fighting while you only complain, Lord Vaemond.

Suddenly Corlys is in the middle of you and Vaemond.

- Enough. Listen Vaemond, I will not allow a revolt.

Daemon joins the small group, he's quiet, looks the opposite of all of you, he looks relaxed, annoyed but still with a calm mind, he's observing all the men around when a new group appears at the view, a messenger.

You instantly looked at Vaemond, you were ready to stab him over and over, you know what the message brings and obviously you know what your uncle will say.

Your uncle takes the piece of paper and reads it calmly, he's pissed, truly pissed. Just when you thought he would not react negatively, he takes his helmet and starts to hit the poor messenger over and over, Laenor and you contain him.

Moments later, your uncle takes a boat and goes to the beach, the plan would be executed. He would pretend to give up, distracting everybody so the rest of you will take advantage.

He walks through the beach with a fake white flag, the crab feeder finally leaves his cave, there's no dragons in the view, mercenaries approach your uncle, while archers point at him.

Suddenly, you appear behind him, fighting side to side, mercenaries appearing out of nowhere, rain of arrows falling over you, your legs are burning, your lungs need more air, but the adrenaline increases, Daemon falls in the sand, arrows hit him and mercenaries are on the way, it's just you and him, call it whatever you want, but the bond between you and your uncle is reason enough to make Daemon stands up, he will not let those men touch you, he knows you can defend yourself but at some point you will not have strength enough, that's why he stands up, he forgets about the pain and runs to protect your back.

Drahar thinks he already won, but once all the mercenaries are out, a wave of your soldiers are running to them, a river of flames puts you and Daemon safe, your dragon, whitefyre, lands and you quickly jump on it, all the arrows are on you, nobody has seen Laenor and his dragon until it's too late, you and Laenor eliminate the archers, while the rest is fighting at the beach.

You lost your uncle, you can't see him anymore, the anxiety is taking the best of you, where's he? What if...?

Coming out of the cave, Daemon appears there's blood covering him, he is dragging a head and a half body with him. Drahar's body, it's done, it's over.

[necrotic-nephilim]

ok ok but jayroytim😏

this feels especially funny if brudick happens in the background and oliver hates the fact he's now in-laws with bruce

so i have to regretfully admit i'm not really a fan of JayRoy, or at least i'm not a fan of the popular version of JayRoy. i think JayRoy could work and would be a lot of fun! but i have *zero* interest in New-52!JayRoy (or New-52!Roy in general) or rlly any version of Jason and Roy on the Outlaws together. both bc i'm a pre-Flashpoint stan at heart. usually i can stand newer content for ship fodder but for these two oh man it grinds my gears how badly Roy got fucked over-

BUT BUT. that doesn't mean i think the ship has *no* merit. because Jason and Roy *do* have some fodder in pre-Flashpoint. they meet briefly when Jason is Robin, and then again when Jason is Red Hood during that Outsiders arc where Black Lightning is in prison. so! there's definitely material to work with. especially playing into the more fucked up nature of Roy knowing Jason when he was Robin. i think it's cute if Jason had a childhood crush on Roy. and maybe Roy even thought Jason was kind of cute, a spunky kid with a lot of energy and passion. then with Jason as Red Hood, Roy openly doesn't trust him and doesn't like that they're working with him. Jason is just a run-of-the-mill villain with a nasty kill count. and sure, Roy's got a record of tangling with people more on the villain side of things, but even going near the Red Hood feels like a step too far.

adding Tim to the mix is really fun. bc honestly it gives Roy some kind of a fetish for guys who have been Robin and i find that to be delightful. like, even if Roy just sees Jason as the Red Hood, he can't *quite* let go of the image of Jason as Robin. like it just won't get out of Roy's system ever since Jason came back. i think, if i were to write these three together, i'd have Roy and Tim get together first of all people, just because Roy is trying really hard to stop thinking about Jason as Robin, especially now that Jason is older and a little meaner. he's full of guilt about it, and he can't talk to Dick because he's still not sure where Dick's feelings fall about the whole Jason thing so. he goes to Tim instead, thinking if he fucks a different Robin, maybe he'll get it out of his system. Tim's pretty and he's just old enough that it's not *too* morally questionable for Roy to seek him out. it takes a while for Roy to work up the nerves because he and Tim aren't particularly close, so how do you even approach that conversation to make it look organic. it's awkward and Tim can definitely tell something is up but hey, who's going to say no to Roy Harper offering sex? one of Dick's best friends? especially if we put this right after Kon and Bart's death where Tim is just. sort of lonely and seeking companionship. in some ways,, Roy would remind him of Kon, just a little. that sort of cocky attitude and snarky smile.

i would add Jason in by having JayTim happen alongside RoyTim. it's not like Roy and Tim are serious enough to be exclusive and Tim knows Roy is sleeping around, so Tim ends up in a weird hatefucking situation with Jason, which definitely was not supposed to happen. Jason just has a damning way of getting under Tim's skin and won't stop bothering Tim until he gets some kind of attention from Tim. and somehow Jason is interesting enough for Tim to cave. and he doesn't even think about the two relationships he's balancing until he happens to sleep with Jason after being with Roy the night before and there are still marks all over him and Jason does *not* like sharing. so when he interrogates Tim and gets nothing, he does the reasonable thing of stalking Tim to figure out who it is. and it just happens to be the guy Jason had a crush on as a kid.

i think Roy finding out he tried so hard to avoid Jason that he accidentally ended up with the same fuck buddy as Jason would be the funniest thing in the world. like it's not something he can run from anymore and he has to accept that. he tries to awkwardly ask what Tim even sees in the guy bc well, Jason's a killer and not known for being mentally stable. but he's also the guy who exonerated Black Lightning with no real motive besides just helping out. he's complicated and Roy doesn't know how to react. Tim just sort of shrugs bc how do you even explain Jason Todd and well, one thing leads to another and Tim ends up in the middle of the most emotionally charged threesome he's ever been in. love the idea of Jason and Roy using Tim as a toy while they work out their feelings for each other. to me that's the peak dynamic. Jason and Roy are pissed about liking each other and somehow, Tim got roped into things. their relationship is not healthy or normal whatsoever, but somehow, they end up balancing each other out nicely.

background BruDick is also hilarious tho. bc there is no one who hates Bruce more than Oliver and he'd be so annoyed that not only did Roy get tangled up with the Bats, but now everything is so weird their families are pretty tangled together and Oliver has to deal with Bruce a lot more than he wants to. and he's glaring daggers about it the whole time.

[olderthannetfic]

I’l throw my two cents into the f/f vs m/m wank fire.

I wonder if part of more m/m being written in general isn’t that certain character dynamics are more likely to remind people of mysogynistic tropes if it involves women.

I’m not sure if these are the best examples— but if the woman is the one getting dominated and the one that gets "babyfever" that seems like it invites harrasment and accusations about misoginy because authors of ye olde times reduced women to only that, and you are decidedly not safe even when all the characters are women because "how dare you write a woman uphold patriarchial standards" or something. Talking about wanting to get a cis man pregnant comes off less creepy than saying the same thing about any woman, doesn’t it?

Maybe these tropes are too niche to actually have any considerable bearing on the shipping scene at large, but it does seem to me like men just become the safer bet to explore sex with and don’t carry the fear to need to write a PhD dissertations about misoginy and sexism as a preface before writing dynamics or kinks that you like, or an explanation to why you are allowed to like that kink or dynamic.

It feels like this might extend to other marginalized or uncommon identities where certain things come with unfortunate sociohistorical (is that a word?) implications, and thus becomes much more restricted in what becomes socially acceptable to depict.

And people don’t want to risk or worry about depicting something "wrong" when they are in a space to relax, and in many cases to avoid thinking too hard about things.

More sensitive topics seem to open up more bad faith readings, which is counter productive for more text to be created about it.

Which now typing out a long explanation for seems stupid- I guess it’s a stupidly obvious conclusion to draw now that if there is a selective pressure of any kind on what gets submitted in a specific category, there will be overall less of it.

If people did feel less concious over what the worst possible reading could be of their f/f and m/f fic there’d certainly be more of it, but I don’t know if people complaining about the lack of f/f want to sacrifice the proportions of "quality" over higher statistics.

I think this might have been touched upon in some ways by other anons under "then we should encourage more het men to write f/f", just not with the exact framework I’m coming from I think.

I don’t have a good way to end this and I’m not sure if it’s worth anything (as far as these types of discourse go anyways), but this is way longer than originally intended already

--

This is a pretty standard point in "Why do women like m/m?" discussions going back decades, yeah. I'm sure this is a reason for many women just as some guys write female characters to explore things they find uncomfortable to explore via male ones.

The thing about the cyclical wank is that it boils down to m/m fans listing a bunch of reasons that make a lot of sense... at extreme length.

And then a bunch of f/f fans feeling rather attacked because nobody really wants to read a thousand pages about why their thing is unpopular.

And then someone goes "Okay, but it's weird/bad that women like slash!" and we're back to the tl;dr explanations.

[djarinova]

dinem miscommunication you say... 👀🎤

(my unpopular opinion is miscommunication is actually be a very good and realistic trope and it's the realism that frustrates people hehe but it can be so good for plot and tension !!)

i do indeed say miscommunication with din 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ (although this is probably a more general x reader miscomm than anything selfship related)

AND @stevebabey and i have been yelling about this for days in the dms so everybody say thank you ruby for having such a huge brain and for screaming about this entire concept w me <3 divider by @/saradika

i just think miscommunication goes hand and hand with who din is as a character—he's stoic, almost unreadable at times (and the helmet certainly does not help with that), he doesn't say anything more than is necessary and he has such a complex and interesting childhood and backstory and many of his romantic... viewpoints, shall we say, are deeply traditional and seem very old school to an outsider.

the miscommunication itself will come when he's finally ready to confess his feelings for you (if i was to write everything that came in-between the first meet and this moment then this would become a fully fledged fic but let me just say this: he grappled with his feelings for a l o n g time, im talking years of knowing you, and i know it's implicitly implied but he trusts you more than anyone else in the galaxy and there have been afew moments were he's almost slipped up and spilled his feelings for you—or so he thinks—and he's agonised himself over how best to approach the subject with you) and you completely misread his intention.

he offers you something—an object of great value to him, something that he feels will bring you security and safety or something that he wants you to keep close to you whenever he is far away (a weapon with an engraving, a compass with a glimmering star along the rim, a small piece of cloth embroidered with a word that you can't read in a language you don't understand)—and you reject it. it looks too clean, too fancy, too nice. and so you politely say "Oh. Din, no... I-I can't take this from you..." and you can actually visibly see his disappointment, it's only for a split second, but his head tilts and his shoulders deflate just ever so slightly, but it's there and it makes you a little confused, it's just a gift, there have been plenty of times when I've offered him something and he's said no, why is it only a problem when I do it??

it ticks you off, just a little, but you let it go. turning and stalking back into the hull of the ship as din watched you disappear feeling crestfallen and embarrassed. because he really thought you would accept it.

and here's the thing, this object, this gift that din was trying to give you, it isn't just an ordinary gift. with it came the question of a relationship, it was customary for a man to offer an heirloom to the person he wishes to court—and considering everything he's been through, it was lucky that he had kept that tiny slither of his past with him all this time, after everything he's lost he wasn't even sure he would ever get to offer it to anyone but he had kept it anyway, locked in a box underneath his bed, just waiting, gathering dust... until you came along.

and then comes the angst. he starts acting differently towards you, it's reminiscent of how he acted when he first met you and it makes you sick to your stomach. you constantly worry that youve done something to upset him (which in a way, you have). he barely speaks more than 5 words to you a day and it is enough to make you feel completely guilty over something that you dont even remember doing! and that realisation makes you angry, you dont even remember upsetting him! you havent said anything odd or screwed up a bounty or messed up something with the child and he's acting totally irrationally, ignoring you and treating you like you dont even exist.

the resolution comes after almost 3-4 months of this. youve grown used to your new dynamic now, and even though you wish you knew the reason for his behaviour, and you wish it wasnt like this, you accept how things are. your anger has slowly dissipated and now you mostly feel fine, still hurt and confused, but din has given you plenty of opportunities to leave over the last few months and you have yet to even consider it—you don't want to leave and despite his best efforts, you still care for him.

perhaps you overhear a conversation in a market between two people who are discussing The Mandalorian, or perhaps you hear din talking to a friend or maybe you read something in a book, but whatever it is, something happens and it clicks for you. the reason din has been so distant is not because he doesnt like you, or because he wants you to leave the ship... it's because he felt embarrassed when you rejected his gift, it's because he has been trying to give you space so you dont feel suffocated by his feelings. he's been doing this for you.

and so you storm up to him, wind beneath your sails now, and demand to know what the hell is wrong with him. if he had just been clear about his feelings then neither of you would've had to be so miserable these past few months. and why didnt he just TELL YOU about the meaning behind the gift.

and he's like would that have changed anything?

and you swallow hard, making eye contact with where you assume his eyes sit behind his visor and you say yes, din, in a whispered voice, it wouldve changed everything.

anyways .......

[thestrangestthlng]

HOLY DOUBLE FUCKING DOWN BATMAN.

"Remember, this is not me backing down or being defensive." "Remember, this is not me apologizing?"

Babes, who are you talking to? Your little fucking friends who are just as problematic as you?

"Just because you were offended doesn't mean you were right."

Be so fucking for real right now. That is not for you to decide. You don't get to determine what is offensive to someone and say they're wrong. You do not get to tell people from communities that what they were offended by wasn't offensive. You do not get to determine whether or not someone else can be offended by your actions.

"I am not the creator of gay stereotypes."

No, you are not, but that doesn't not mean that you have to continue to give them life.

"they created it themselves." Re: stereotypes about queer hookup culture.

You do realize that straight people have a hook up culture, right? We'll get to that. Do you want to know why there are so many negative stereotypes about marginalized communities? I'll tell you. It's because of white supremacy culture and the patriarchy. White people in power made sure the seeds of these negative connotations were spread far and wide. Media creates those biases and creates the stereotype. Would you say the same thing about Black women and the Mammy and Sapphire stereotype? These are stereotypes that are mocked and negatively reinforced in culture for entertainment and oppression.

"Gay men, I'm sorry... [...] my bad, I thought that because gay men can joke about it, I can too."

It's not that you can't joke about it. The fact was it wasn't fucking funny and I will explain to you exactly why. When you are joking abut a marginalized community, or a demographic that you have a position of privilege over (which you do, as a bisexual woman) you have to PUNCH UP for the joke to be funny. You punched down, which made it an attack and not a joke.

"The hook up culture exists in every sexual orientation [...] so what are you even mad for."

It absolutely does exist with every sexual orientation, WHICH IS WHY YOU COULD HAVE LEFT OUT THAT WHOLE FUCKING PARAGRAPH WHERE YOU TALKED ABOUT GAY MEN ONLY BEING ABOUT THAT THING. (And I'm sure that you're not even old enough to get that reference.)

"The word "target" was part of the fun little dialogue I imagined in my head when I was explaining Tommy pov. It wasn't meant to be taken in a fun docu-series kinda way."

Just because it's not how you intended doesn't mean that isn't how it was received. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. You mocking this just really goes to show how ignorant you are.

"I'm bisexual."

Okay, and? The same way a gay man or a lesbian can be biphobic or make biphobic statements or actions, bisexual people can have queerphobic statements or actions. I explained this to you. Internalized phobias are a think too.

"Queer people are not untouchable."

No, they aren't. You can dislike queer characters, I know I dislike PLENTY. You can just be honest with yourself and be like "I don't like him because he's in the way of my ship." You don't have to prove anything you can just say you don't like him. You don't need to justify this, you can just be honest about it.

The problem is that the rhetoric that you are spewing is homophobic in nature. And when gay men and other queer people are telling you that it's offensive, it's offensive. You were explained to in detail why what you said was offensive, reductive, and dangerous. You just don't care. Your little friends are just in your ear backing you up.

Tommy is absolutely just a character. He will never see any of this shit, but people like him, will.

If after this, you still don't understand how you, a bisexual, can be homophobic or make homophonic actions, I don't know what to tell you.

[mochimochimona]

Rewatching Arcane only Jayce and Viktor and it's hilarious S1 EP3

08.01.2025: So I forgot to include the first scenes with these two because I didn'T take it that serious before, so I added the other scenes from the Episode to have a more complete analysis.

Confident Viktor is so awesome and also: he can stand on his own and even move a little bit. It makes me sad to see how his sickness hadn't gotten a hold of him yet when he met Jayce. And also, his "we have to crank it" and unsure smile is so sweet.

This scene makes me 100% sure Viktor is a sneak little bitch and he is going very far to achieve his dreams. Oh wait.

"Why, Why would you risk this?" Viktors explanation is real here, I don't think he only wants to help Jayce because he is nice, but he has a dream, too. Which is even more important to point Jayce's reaction, how could I not include it here? He looks at Viktor so adoringly and happy, that he found someone who wants to help. And he smiles at him, after that, a little bit. It is a soft smile. I am struggling to interpret that as love, but definetly affection.

and than this shot, which makes me smile: "Our Hextech Dream". And that is important here, because for Jayce, nothing is more important to give magic to the people. And Viktor is the one who helps him the most.

The fact that Jayce keeps on touching Viktor after that is not lost on me, but again I am a touchy person myself and not romantically involved with everyone I do that with, so I leave it here as a character trait he has and a comrade-thing to do. Even if you don't know someone that long, you can do that without any thoughts behind. But I find it interesting that he is doing that just with Viktor. He never touched Mel before she made a move on him (he wasn't even flirting with her. WAIT A MINUTE).

And after that, onto doing mischief:

Honestly, I can see why people doubt the shipping, especially in the first few episodes (or the first season) but honestly, Viktor did like Jayce but more importantly he wanted Jayce to focus on their endeavor; when Mel showed up and Jayce was like this, smiling after her, Viktor was clearly pissed Jayce was not paying attention. I am weezing, Viktors face.

His pout.

And then this weird look, this short flash of...sadness? Disappointment?

Anyway, Jayce was staring at Mel for a long time. Not gonna lie. That's why I wasn't on the shipping train in the first season I guess.

Can't shake the feeling Viktor knew or something lol, now I have thought about it and now I am seeing things.

Like when they tried it out he was so sure it will hold.

So I was thinking why would Jayce be so protective of Viktor all the time, when Viktor is pretty confident (shown in the scene with Mel and the scene in the lab)

Edit 08.01.2025: Like he was calm and confident and saying "the resonance will stabilize it". We do love our confident scientist. As someone pointed out, there were a lot more scenes in this episode important to their relationship, but I started taking a closer look after this episode. So I will have to revisit them and take the other scenes into account, too. So don't be confused if the first episodes aren't in order!

Honestly asking: Is it just me, or am I delulu? In this scene Viktor says "ALL YOURS" and looks at Jayce like this. Yes, we know Viktor, all his. Every damn time *goes crying into a corner*

Anyway, before the Gemstones somewhat work, Jayce is guided by his memory of the mage how he could activate the gemstone, which is a nice thing to watch after knowing who that man is (and man, does Old Man Viktor look healthy??). And we get this magically scene with them, Viktor keeping the screw makes my heart clench.

This scene is really magical! I love it so much.

And how Viktor is smiling at Jayce!

But instead letting us see a close up of Jayce smiling back at Viktor, Heimerdinger comes in and Mel decided to show up, too and Jayce is giving her that look again.

So I rest my case here, that Jayce is fond of Viktor, but not romantically interested. Which makes me question myself but again, we don't see much of interaction with these two until Mel gets Jayce away from Viktor and the research. Hm. Interesting.

[talxe]

Reading the Iliad, Book 8 thoughts

This is my first time ever reading it and I know next to nothing abt greek mythology so if I interpret anything wrong by all means pls correct me

Im reading the Robert Fagles translation

The Argive start losing really bad

Zeus goes on this rant that NO ONE can go down and interfere with the war and if they do he's going to be really pissed

Zeus leaves for Mt. Ida to watch the fight alone

The battle begins and LOADS of ppl start dying. Zeus even weighs it on a scale and the Greek deaths far outweigh the Trojan deaths

A lightning bolt strikes near the Argives and at that point they know that Zeus isn't fucking with them rn

So they run lol

Nestor (The old ass man) is like the only one who doesn't run

Hector starts bounding toward Nestor trying to kill him

Dio turns back to protect him, he happens to see Odysseus running to and calls him a coward but Odysseus ignores him and keeps booking it back towards camp

Diomedes is READY to start killing people and he would have if Zeus hadn't sent another burst of lightning, basically saying "Don't fucking move."

Diomedes doesn't want to run but he ends up leaving too.

Hector yells at him calling him a coward which is one thing Diomedes didn't want happening.

3 times Diomedes debates going back to kill Hector and 3 times Zeus shuts that down.

Hector starts talking major shit abt the Greeks and he's like "Let's burn everything down."

Watching this go down, Hera is getting super pissed

The Trojans start getting really close to the Greek ships but Hera gets involved and infuses Agamemnon with courage.

Agamemnon yells at the Greeks and starts begging Zeus for help and Zeus sends an eagle to fly over their camp.

This sign gives the Argives strength they need to go back into battle

Diomedes is the first to hit a Trojan bc ofc he is

Teucer shoots a bunch of ppl from behind Ajax's (greater) shield

Big Ajax and Teucer are actually half-brothers

But Teucer cannot hit Hector no matter how hard he tries

Hector throws a rock at Teucer and hits him in the collarbone, injuring him.

The Greeks begin to pry bc things are nnoooott looking good for them

Hera and Athena start gearing up to help the Argives but Zeus sends Iris to tell Athena that he will rock her shit if she helps them. This stops her

Zeus calls a meeting

Hera yells at her husband and Zeus is like "We all know that Hector is going to be killed by Achilles after Patroclus dies so idk why ur so upset."

I didn't think Homer would come out and say it like that😭

The fighting stops and the Trojans go to eat but before that, Hector tells them "We NEED to figure out a way to kill Diomedes like soon."